


Bruises and Battle Scars

by A_Kid_Named_Hiro



Series: MadaTobi Week [4]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 21:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Kid_Named_Hiro/pseuds/A_Kid_Named_Hiro
Summary: Prompt:Office shenanigans(fromMadaTobi Week 2018).





	Bruises and Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Office shenanigans_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2018](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/174594542851/madatobi-week-2018-prompts)** ).

Tobirama is a work of art, carved and sculpted from the finest of stones, jagged edges beneath immaculate marble.

He is a god, rising amid ruin.

Madara thinks this, watching Tobirama navigate what was once the office of Vongola Nono.

_Eighteen years._

Madara can barely believe it and yet it is so.

Eighteen years since Tobirama stood here, by his father's desk in this very room, Butsuma's diary in his hands, the truth of his birth and blood in it. Kin and not. Family that wasn't.

Eighteen years since _that_ vow, since Madara swore his heart's beat to Tobirama, swore it always.

He is thirty-two and too goddamn old.

He watches the slide of Tobirama's fingers along the grain of the desk, the dust upon the bookshelves, the cracks upon the walls. Knows that Tobirama is thinking the same thing.

Madara can see it — the thoughts upon his face, the battle within his eyes.

Tobirama loved his father. Hated him and loves him still.

Madara respectfully keeps his distance. Allows Tobirama this moment to work out the chaos that most certainly burns within him.

He turns his gaze outward. Toward the open doors that lead to the balcony. Toward daylight. The sun, Madara thinks, is mocking them. Warmth in a world so bereft of it.

Crunch of rubble beneath heavy footfalls. Madara looks up to find Tobirama looking at him.

And Madara feels his breath still like it did eighteen years ago. Back when he was a boy who met a man upon these grounds. A man he was destined to follow, blood be damned.

Those eyes. That face. The determined set of his jaw. The steel in his spine.

Madara looks at them now and reads revenge.

  


* * *

  


This is where he belongs, here in this moment, bent over the desk and ruthlessly fucked.

They are in Tobirama's office in the Varia castle. Madara is too aware of the paper crumpling beneath his cheek. Smell of ink. Wood. Cigarette smoke. Fire and ash.

Tobirama grieves like rage. Madara can feel it. In the bite of Tobirama's nails against the flesh of his hips. In every sharp thrust. In the heat that radiates off of him in waves, scalding, suffocating.

A hand in his hair. There is no shred of gentleness in Tobirama's grip. There is only this — the curl of fingers, the sharp tug, the jolt of pain through Madara's scalp and neck from when his head is abruptly jerked upward.

Madara knows that Tobirama loves his hair as much as he loathes it. As much as Madara loves and loathes it himself. This hair. This vow. This burden. This _mockery._

Hot breath fans his face. Tobirama's growl within his ear. _"Fucking trash."_

Tobirama's body against his own. Madara can feel the network of scars upon his skin. _Eighteen years,_ he thinks. Eighteen years since he learned that ice could burn. Since he first learned the taste of futility.

No light in this room. Nothing but the sound of their breaths, urgent, greedy, broken. Slap of flesh against flesh. The heat of Tobirama's cock, thrusting harder inside him.

Tobirama, so selfish in his need. Tobirama, who takes all that Madara is willing to give.

Their rhythm quickens. Madara feels strands of his hair snapping within Tobirama's grip. A low growl in his ear. His face, shoved into the desk.

Tobirama tries to break him, and Madara feels himself give, give, give.

  


* * *

  


Twilight upon them. Madara watches Tobirama ready for battle. Jacket upon his shoulders. Guns within their holsters.

He stands before Tobirama. Places a hand against the scar on his cheek. Says, "Blood isn't everything."

Means, _You are still Vongola Nono's son._

Means, _**I** am here._

Always, always.

Tobirama's hand upon his. A hard grip, a gentle kiss upon his knuckles.

No words are needed.

  


* * *

  


Tonight, they will invade the Millefiore headquarters.

They will place their flag upon the lands of the enemy, black and red amid blood and death.

It will read, _Squadra killer autonoma di Vongola IX._


End file.
